Goldberg Variations
by Elf Eye
Summary: Part of the Nameless One series since it is about Anomen before his identity as Legolas has been revealed. Anomen falls into the hands of the Southrons and must save not only himself but the folk of Rivendell.
1. Chapter 1

**This is another tale in the Nameless One series, since it is about Anomen in the days before his identity as Legolas is finally revealed. Some readers have requested additional elfling tales in the series, and this is such a tale. Also, several readers have asked for more scenes featuring both Anomen and Glorfindel. This tale does not center upon their relationship, but it does contain some interaction between the two.**

**About the title: 'Berg' is the German word for mountain, so that fits the Goldberg portion of the title, and there will be a second chapter, so that fits the Variations portion. The reason for the 'gold' in the title will be obvious, and the whole title is a pun upon a musical title, which I will leave you to discover.**

**For the Sindarin numbers, I follow Ryszard Derdzinski's **_**Summary of the Sindarin Grammar**_

**Beta Reader: Since this story will consist of two chapters only, I have not asked my beta reader to weigh in, as I do not like to burden her with anything beyond Parallel Quest, for which she has already reviewed thirty-seven chapters! If anyone sees a mistake, please alert me. **

Arwen stood on the bridge staring at the forest into which her father had disappeared, riding south, toward a rendezvous with a delegation of Dunlendings who had sued for an end to the hostilities that had existed ever since a band of Men had attacked an elven pack train, injuring several Elves and stealing a dozen horses. He would be gone, he had told her, for a fortnight. 'Fourteen days,' she thought miserably. 'That's more days than I have fingers'. She held up both hands, fingers splayed, and regarded them. 'Min, tâd, nêl, canad, leben', she counted to herself. _One, two, three, four, five. _'Eneg, odog, tolodh, neder, pae', she continued. "That's ten," she said aloud. Then she dropped one hand and tucked the thumb of the other. 'Minig, uiug, pae-a-nêl, pae-a-canad', she counted. _Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen._ "Too many fingers," she said mournfully, folding her hands into fists. She sniffed and rubbed at her eyes, and anyone seeing her would have been struck at how very alike the young of all races are, regardless of their superficial differences. A man-child watching his father set out from Bree to trade sheep in Archet would have looked every bit as miserable as Arwen.

As she stood on the bridge, her eyes welling, Arwen sensed a presence and looked over her shoulder. Anomen was regarding her worriedly. "Oh, Nomie," she cried, "Ada will be gone ever so long, and I don't know how I shall manage without him. Perhaps," she added fearfully, "I shall fade. Do you suppose I shall?"

Anomen came to stand by her. He shook his head. "No," he said kindly, "You shan't. Fourteen days are as nothing in the life of an Elf. You will see. The time will pass quickly, with lessons and games, and then you will see your Ada riding back over the bridge."

"You think so, Nomie?" Arwen said hopefully. "And I won't fade?"

"Truly you will not," Anomen assured her. "Consider, 'Wen, that it is already several hours since your father departed. When he left, you had to bear the thought that he would not return for fourteen days. But now it is less than fourteen days until his return. If you could bear the thought that he would be gone for fourteen days entire, then you may surely bear the thought that he will be gone for a lesser period of time."

"Oh," said Arwen. "Oh. I hadn't thought of that. So he _won't_ be gone for fourteen days."

"Not anymore he won't," affirmed Anomen. "Indeed, your Ada is coming back sooner than he was even a few minutes ago. Oh, wait a moment—now he is coming back even _sooner_! And _now_—"

"Nomie," giggled Arwen, "you are silly."

"Silly," exclaimed Anomen, making a show of being affronted. "Silly! Indeed I am not! I am quite in earnest!"

"No, you are not, Nomie, and I am glad you are not. You said the time would pass in lessons and games. Erestor will make sure of the lessons, but _you_ must play the games with me. I know Elrohir won't because _he_ pretends to be a grownup, and Elladan won't because he almost always will oblige Elrohir by doing whatever he wants—twins are awful, _I_ think. So you must play with me, Nomie, or nobody else will."

Here Arwen put on a tragic expression, and Anomen struggled not to laugh, for her turned-down mouth was woefully at variance with her dancing eyes. After a few moments, however, he gave up and giggled, and then Arwen abandoned her attempts at looking miserable and began to laugh as well. At last Anomen managed to sober himself. "I will play with you, 'Wen," he promised, "but not this afternoon. Elladan was making droll faces at me on the training field, and twice I shot wide. I want to go and search for my arrows, for I shouldn't like Glorfindel to notice that I am short."

Arwen nodded solemnly. She had never been on the receiving end of one of Glorfindel's rebukes, but often enough she had seen Elladan, Elrohir, and Anomen quailing beneath the fierce eye of the balrog-slayer. "You find your arrows," she agreed. "I will go in the garden and pick flowers for a garland for Ada."

"A garland might fade before he returns," Anomen pointed out, "but if you pluck the petals and let them dry, you can make him a sachet. He can take it out and hold it to his nose whenever Mithrandir puffs upon his pipe," the young Elf added mischievously. This drew a merry laugh, and Arwen ran off gaily, her spirits restored.

Anomen walked on to the training field. He hastened past the targets and into the woods behind them. Quickly he found his two arrows, as well as several belonging to other Elves, including one that actually looked as if it might belong to Glorfindel himself. Anomen held it up and carefully examined it. 'Yes', he said to himself, 'that is indeed Glorfindel's mark'. He grinned and put the arrow into his quiver. 'I should like to see Glorfindel's face if I draw out one of his arrows when he is scolding _me_ for carelessness', he chortled to himself. Then he spied another arrow on the far side of a rill. He was about to step across the streamlet when a bright glint caught his eye. He bent down and from amongst the pebbles in the rill picked up a tiny fleck. He held the flake up, and it gleamed bright in the sun. 'Gold', he said to himself. 'It must have washed out of a deposit hereabouts. If I find only a few flakes more, I can ask the goldsmith to gild the pendant that I am carving for Arwen's birthday'. For gold is extraordinarily ductile, and even a small quantity would have sufficed for the end that Anomen had in mind.

From the pouch that he wore at his side, Anomen drew out the small piece of cloth in which was wrapped his whetting stone. He returned the whetting stone to the pouch and wrapped the gold flake in the cloth. Then he set about scanning the streambed for additional flakes. Soon he spotted one upstream of the spot where he had found the first fleck. Encouraged, he added it to the first and then continued his search, moving ever upstream. In short order he had found three more flakes. 'I wonder if I can find the source', he mused, 'for it may be useful to have a vein so close to Rivendell. The Elves of Greenwood proffer gold for our glasswork, but they get it from the Men of Esgaroth, who, it is said, acquire it from dwarven vagabonds who relinquish heirlooms to stave off starvation. Surely that is no a reliable source! 'Twould be better if Rivendell had a source nearer to hand'.

Anomen continued searching, moving ever upstream. After a little while, he had as many flakes as the cloth could hold, so he knotted it and put it in his pouch. He observed many other flecks glinting amongst the pebbles and continued to follow the trail until he had gone several hundred feet without seeing one. Then he returned to the last spot where he had seen a flake. There a rivulet entered the stream. Its source was to the east, and Anomen lifted up his eyes and gazed upon the mountain from whose flanks it arose. 'The vein must lie somewhere within that mountain', he said to himself. Well pleased, he turned his steps toward home. 'Elrond will be glad to learn of this gold', he told himself happily. 'It will free us from dependence upon Dwarves'. Congratulating himself upon his astuteness, the elfling began to sing as he walked.

Confidence—over-confidence, that is—has been the bane of many. As Anomen sang, he listened to the sound of his own voice, never noticing the slight rustling and crackling noises that would have alerted him to the approach of danger. He rounded a bend in the stream—and found himself staring at the drawn arrows of a band of Men. From their clothing, he did not judge them to be Dunlendings, and when they spoke, his suspicions—and fears—were proved to be correct.

"A lone Elf," sneered one of the Men.

"Aye, and a young one, too," observed another.

'Southrons', thought Anomen, his stomach clenching. Thanks to Erestor, his grounding in the languages of Men was very thorough.

Anomen remained still. He was an excellent archer, but even Glorfindel could not have defended himself against upwards of a dozen Men who had already drawn and nocked their arrows.

The Man who had first spoken—the leader, apparently—gestured, and some of his companions sidled around until Anomen was completely surrounded. One Man seized the Elf's bow; another took his knife. Then the leader step forward. "Let us see what he has in his pouch," he declared. He cut the strings of the pouch, and grimaced in disappointment as he looked inside. "Whetting stone, flint and steel. Paugh!" He flung it down. One of his fellows picked it up and peered into it. "There is something wrapped in cloth," he announced, pulling forth the packet of gold. "Let me see that!" exclaimed the leader, turning back toward him. He snatched the cloth from his follower and undid the knot. "Gold!" he gloated. "Where did you get this?" he demanded of Anomen.

The young Elf thought quickly. It would not do for Men to learn that gold was to be found near Imladris. "I acquired it on my travels," he said—omitting to mention, of course, that his 'travels' had been brief. Let the Men think what they liked; he had told no lie!

"You are not equipped for a journey," said the Man suspiciously. "You carry no pack."

Legolas shrugged. "What need have I for a pack? As you see, I carry whetting stone, flint and steel. These answer my needs. With my arrows I bring down game; with my knife, kept ever sharp, I dress my prey; with my flint and steel I kindle the fire with which to cook my dinner. If you do not believe me, look in my quiver, wherein you will find arrows variously marked. These I have collected in token of my journey."

The Man yanked the quiver from Anomen's shoulder and dumped its contents upon the ground. As Anomen had said, diverse arrows were mingled amongst his own.

The Man nodded. "Very well. You have acquired this gold during your travels. Tell us where, exactly, or you will travel no more!"

"Journey with me to Dunland," Anomen replied, "and there you will learn the truth."

Before the leader could reply, one of his Men spoke up. "Dunland," he said excitedly. "Have not our spies reported that there is bad blood between the Elves and the Dunlendings and that the Dundlendings are desirous of suing for peace. They must mean to buy off the Elves."

"Is this true?" demanded the leader.

"Aye, it is so," replied Anomen, who was still speaking nothing but the truth.

"You carry a message for your Lord, then, a token of gold to come?"

"Yes," Anomen answered earnestly, "and if you do not hurt me and instead accompany me to Dunland, you will, as I have said, learn more of this matter."

"Very well," nodded the leader. "But if you are lying, you will rue the day."

"I have not lied," Anomen answered honestly. "Every word I have said is true. May I gather my arrows?"

"Yes, but we will keep your bow and your blade. Perhaps they will be returned to you. For be sure that if you lead us straight to the Dunlendings, things will turn out well for you."

"I will," promised Anomen, who had his own reasons for thinking that things would turn out well.

The Southrons bound Anomen's hands before him but did not otherwise harm him. His promise to Anomen notwithstanding, their leader had no intention of freeing him, but the Man wished him kept whole so that he would fetch a good price at a slave market in Rhûn. Anomen suspected as much, but he did not let on. He resolved to behave as if innocent of their intentions, hoping that compliant behavior on his part would lead to careless behavior on theirs.

Happy that every step he took led his enemies further away from Imladris, Anomen walked southward steadily and without complaint. The Men tired before he did, and at last the leader called a halt and ordered that cook fires be kindled. Pots were set over the flames, and strips of meat and root vegetables tossed into water fetched from a nearby stream. Anomen was set to stirring a pot under the watchful eye of one of his captors, but he had no mind to attempt to escape so close to Rivendell. 'I will lead them far away before I give them the slip', he thought to himself.

That night, as he lay between two guards, hands and wrists bound, he feigned sleep and listened carefully to their leader, who sat nearby with his lieutenant.

"So you mean to relieve the Dunlendings of their gold," chortled the lieutenant.

"Yes, but not at first," answered the leader.

"But why should we delay? Let us seize the gold and begone!"

"I mean to take advantage of the ill blood between the Dunlendings and the Elves. I will promise the Dunlendings that they may keep their gold if they will lead us to realm of Elrond Half-Elven and help us subdue his folk. Once the Elves have been subjugated, then we will slay the Dunlendings and seize their treasure. We will then possess not only the gold but also elven slaves who will bring an excellent price, as they are exceedingly hard to come by."

"It is said," the lieutenant replied doubtfully, "that Elrond's realm may be discovered by mortal Man only if the Elves permit it. An enchantment lies upon that land."

The leader shrugged. "If the Dunlendings cannot lead us to the riven valley, then the elf brat will—given the proper persuasion, of course. We still need the Dunlendings, of course, as our numbers are not enough for an assault upon the Elves. So the brat will guide us to the Dunlendings, our allies, however reluctant, and then he will lead us to his kinfolk. The plan is still good."

The lieutenant nodded, satisfied. "Aye, 'tis good! Gold and Elves!"

"Wine, too, I hope," yawned the leader, settling himself on his bedroll. "The Elves purchase too much of the Dorwinion stocks, leaving little for we Men of Harad. I mean to sit upon Elrond's throne and sip that beverage from a goblet with the seal of his house upon it. If we can take the half-elf alive, he will pour for me!"

Both the lieutenant and his captain cackled at the thought of an elven lord reduced to servitude. Lying nearby, Anomen suppressed a shudder. 'I will not try to slip away until I near the rendezvous', he vowed, 'for that captain is determined to seek out the Dunlendings and will do so even if I escape. But if I remain with them, their arrogance will continue unabated, and that will make them careless. Mayhap I can lead them into an ambush'. Anomen winced a little as he thought of his own carelessness, but he pushed the thought away. It was necessary to concentrate upon present circumstances. In any event, he did not doubt but that Glorfindel would later have something to say on the subject. No need to dwell on it now.

For several more days, the Southrons and their captive marched steadily southward. The further they were from Rivendell, the less stringently the Men treated their captive. Anomen was allowed to walk with hands untied, although he was always bound both hand and foot when camp was made at night.

At last they drew near the border of Dunland, where, Anomen knew, the Elves would be meeting with the Dunlendings. He fretted over what would happen when the Southrons entered the encampment. The Elves and Dunlendings would be meeting under a flag of peace. The Elves would never relax all vigilance, but they would not be expecting trouble from the Dunlendings, who had been beaten down by their long conflict with the Elves. Anomen was thus frightened at the thought of what might ensue if the Southrons had a chance to suborn the Dunlendings before the Elves had the opportunity to recognize the danger in which they stood. Anomen decided that he must find a way to put the Elves on their guard the moment the Southrons entered the camp. For a little while he considered what he ought to do. Then he nodded to himself slightly. On a sudden he flung himself to one side, momentarily escaping his minders. He ran toward a copse—but he took care not to run as quickly as he might. Still, he set a pace fast enough so that the Men who gave chase were winded when they caught up with him. Roughly they seized him and dragged him back toward their company, where their captain waited grimly. "Elf brat," he swore. He slapped Anomen twice upon the face, and the elfling felt blood trickling from his mouth and nose. "Bind his hands," the captain ordered.

On they marched. Anomen made no move to raise his bound hands to his face but instead allowed the blood to congeal upon it. His face itched as the blood dried. 'I must look a sight', he thought with satisfaction.

Ahead Anomen saw tents and Men lounging about a watch fire. Boldly the Southrons marched into the encampment, driving their captive before them. The Dunlendings yelled with alarm and scattered, disappearing into the surrounding scrub. Behind them the Southrons milled about, confused at their reception by fellow Men. They did not know that within the largest of the tents was a company of Elves and that the Dunlendings had fled because they did not wish to be on the spot when the Elves exacted vengeance for the mistreatment of one of their own.

At the sound of the shouting, the remaining Dunlendings poured from their tents—and the Elves strode forth from their pavilion. These latest Dunlendings, too, shrieked and fled the camp, and Anomen took advantage of the confusion to throw himself upon the ground—but not before Glorfindel had espied him. The balrog-slayer let out a very unelvenly roar—Elrond was later to say that he sounded like a balrog himself—and led the charge of his fellows against Anomen's erstwhile captors.

The most of the Southrons were cut down in the camp, but a few turned and fled, pursued by Elves implacable in their quest for vengeance. One of these fugitives was the captain. His fellows were dispatched without quarter wherever they were found, but he alone was dragged back into the camp. Meanwhile, the Dunlendings had begun to trickle back into the encampment, and it was indeed for their benefit that the Southron captain had been preserved alive. His hands were bound behind his back, and he was forced to his knees. Anomen, his hands free, was brought to stand before him.

"You tricked me," the Southron captain raged at him. "You knew these Elves would be here."

"I told you that if you took me to Dunland you would learn all," Anomen coolly replied. "I did not lie."

"Do you know what these Haradrim were seeking, Anomen?" Elrond asked.

"Aye, I do," Anomen replied. "They thought the Dunlendings had gold and wanted to steal it from them. But first they wanted to persuade the Dunlendings to join them in attacking Imladris."

"We would never have done so," one of the Dunlending chieftains exclaimed hastily. "We wish to live in peace with you, our neighbors. The Southrons are nothing to us!"

"They are nothing now," Elrond said dryly. "Except for this one—and he will soon be nothing." He nodded at Glorfindel, who was standing behind the Southron. The balrog-slayer raised his sword and with one blow cleaved the Man's head from his shoulders. The head rolled to the foot of the Dunlending chieftain, who blanched. Anomen, too, paled, but Elrond placed a steadying hand upon his shoulder. "Lindir," Elrond called to one of the Elves, "would you tend to Anomen? Glorfindel and I must see the negotiations through to their end."

"My Lord Elrond," the Dunlending chieftain said quickly, "I was just about to tell you that your latest offer was most pleasing to us—all of us." He looked appealingly at his fellows, and they all nodded their heads vigorously, some with their hands clutching at their throats.

"If you are sure," Elrond said blandly.

"I am," the chieftain assured him.

"Very well," Elrond said. "Then we will make ready to return to our own land."

More vigorous nodding on the part of the Dunlendings, who parted to allow the Elves to return to their tent. Elrond walked with his hand still upon Anomen's shoulder. "Why did the Haradrim believe the Dunlendings to possess gold?" he said softly. "You had better secure the captain's pouch," Anomen whispered back. "It contains gold flakes that I found in a stream in Imladris—but I let the captain think that I was carrying them to Imladris as a peace offering from the Dunlendings to you."

Elrond chuckled a little before turning to Glorfindel. "My friend, the Harad captain has something of Anomen's. Would you humor me by fetching his pouch?"

Glorfindel nodded and turned on his heel. The Dunlendings had begun to strip the bodies of the Southrons, and one stooped above the captain, his hand upon the Southron's pouch. All scattered, however, at the approach of the Elf warrior, one stumbling over the captain's head in his haste to escape. Glorfindel drew his blade and cut the pouch from the captain's belt and rejoined his comrades in the tent, handing the bag to Elrond. The Elf lord drew forth the knotted cloth and untied it. Pouring the flakes into his hand, he studied them carefully. "Aye," he said at last. "Gold, not fool's gold as I expected—although one might argue that all gold ought to be called fool's gold, so foolishly do Men behave at the sight of it. What do you mean to do with this gold, Anomen—nothing foolish, I hope."

"Oh, no," Anomen assured him earnestly. "I have been carving a pendant for Arwen, and I mean to ask the smith to gild it. If there is enough, I will ask him to make a chain as well."

Elrond nodded his approval. It was now Glorfindel's turn to speak. "How is it, Anomen, that you were captured by these Men? I would have thought that I taught you better than that."

Anomen colored a little and cast down his eyes. "I was careless," he said shamefacedly. "I was singing and not listening to the sounds about me."

"Yes," said Glorfindel sternly. "You were very careless to lower your guard and allow yourself to be captured."

"Indeed, that is true, Lord Glorfindel," said Anomen, his manner still contrite. "I was careless—as I was careless earlier that day, when I twice overshot my target. That was why I was wandering about in the woods beyond the training field. I was looking for my arrows. Oh, Lord Glorfindel," the elfling suddenly exclaimed, cautiously peeking up at the balrog-slayer. "Now I mention arrows, that puts me in mind of something. I found one of your arrows in the woods."

Assuming an expression of utmost innocence, Anomen drew the arrow from his quiver and with a flourish presented it to Lord Glorfindel, who suddenly looked a trifle discomfited. Elrond chuckled at his friend's expression; Glorfindel scowled at him but said nothing as he replaced the arrow in his quiver.

"Well," Elrond said pleasantly, "an arrow has been restored to Glorfindel, and let us now restore this elfling to his rightful place in Rivendell."

The conversation at an end, Elrond instructed that the tent be struck and packed. Then Elrond went to exchange the handshake of friendship with the Dunlending elders—although it must be admitted that the Men took hold of the proffered hand very gingerly and relinquished it as soon as it was seemly.

Within the space of an hour the Elves rode out of the encampment. Anomen, to his chagrin, was seated before Glorfindel on his great warhorse. The skin at the nape of Anomen's neck prickled uncomfortably as he waited nervously for the balrog-slayer to sternly allude to the scrape the elfling had gotten himself into. When Glorfindel at last spoke, however, his tone was very mild. "I am sure," he said, "that you were singing because you were happy at the thought of the pleasure that the gift of the pendant would bring to Arwen. Your motives were pure, even if your ears were faulty."

"Thank you, Lord Glorfindel," Anomen said hesitantly.

The Elf lord cleared his throat. "And I thank _you_ for the return of my arrow."

"You are very welcome, Lord Glorfindel," replied Anomen, who was more and more surprised. He was not accustomed to receiving compliments, and certainly not from Glorfindel the Twice-born, Balrog-slayer!

Glorfindel cleared his throat again. Anomen thought that the Elf's throat must be very dry, and he wondered at it. Perhaps the climate in Dunland had not suited him. "No doubt," Glorfindel continued, "your compatriots will be wondering where you have gotten yourself to these past few days. As you have suffered enough at the hands of the Haradrim, I shan't embarrass you by telling them that you were taken prisoner by Men."

"Thank you, Lord Glorfindel," said Anomen, who was bewildered at the Lord's unwonted solicitude. Suddenly, however, a possible motive occurred to Anomen that would account for Glorfindel's kindness. "I suppose," the elfling said slyly, "that I had better not tell anyone that I went into the woods in search of arrows that had gone astray."

"Do you know," said Glorfindel, sounding surprised, "I think you are right! Yes, that is so. If you mention what you were up to, it will raise all sorts of questions that had better be left unanswered—to avoid unnecessary embarrassment, of course."

Anomen noticed that Glorfindel had not specified embarrassment to _whom_, and he suppressed a giggle. Glorfindel must have guessed at what he was thinking, however. "Scamp," he said softly, but his voice was amused, and he gently tousled Anomen's hair. Now Anomen did giggle, and Glorfindel pretended to cuff his ear. Anomen giggled again, but then let out an inelegant yawn that would have horrified his tutor Erestor. Glorfindel circled his waist with an arm and pulled him back against his chest. "Sleep now," he ordered, trying to sound gruff. Caught between yawning and grinning, Anomen at last fell asleep safely cradled in the arms of the balrog-slayer.

A few days later, the elven company rode toward the bridge to Rivendell. Lindir had been sent ahead to alert the folk to their return, and as the first horse set foot upon the bridge, Arwen was to be seen scampering toward them from the opposite end. With an indulgent smile, Elrond dismounted and scooped her into his arms. "Ada," she shouted joyously, "Ada! You are back early. You have only been gone twelve days. Look!" She held up her fingers and quickly told off the days. When she was finished, she looked about proudly. Then she caught sight of Anomen. She frowned. "You promised to play games with me," she scolded, "but then you ran off."

"Do not be angry with Anomen, Arwen," Elrond said. "It is Anomen who gave us occasion to return two days early. He hit upon a scheme that allowed us to impress the Dunlendings with the power and might of Imladris. His cleverness brought the negotiations to a quick conclusion."

Arwen's frown was instantly transformed into a smile. She wriggled from her father's arms and held her own up to Anomen. Glorfindel set Anomen upon the ground, and she flung her arms around the elfling, who tried to look dignified even as he strove to peel her fingers from his tunic. "Oh, Nomie," she cooed, "you are the bestest brother."

"Best," corrected Anomen, and then he blushed. It was Glorfindel who rescued him. "Anomen," he called, "I believe a little archery practice is in order. I shall stable my horse and meet you on the field directly. Make haste!"

"I must go, Arwen," Anomen said gratefully, giving her a little squeeze. "But his time I won't go far, I promise you."

Anomen kept his word. After spending a pleasant hour upon the practice field with Glorfindel, who this day proved to be as indulgent with Anomen as Elrond had been with Arwen, Anomen hurried back to the Hall and, now indulgent himself, helped Arwen dress her doll and patiently sat through the elven equivalent of 'tea', pretending to sip from a tiny goblet whilst nibbling upon an imaginary biscuit. Then, when Arwen's nurse called her away to bathe, Anomen hurried to the smith. He showed the artisan the gold and the wooden pendant. "Can you gild this pendant?" he asked. The smith assured him that he could and that, moreover, there would be enough gold left over for the forging of a chain.

A fortnight later, Anomen presented Arwen with pendant and chain. She exclaimed over it, and it became one of her two favorite necklaces. One, the Evenstar, was dear to her both because it was gifted her by her father and because it became the link that joined her to Aragorn when he departed with the Fellowship on their quest to destroy the Ring that was as evil as the Evenstar was good. The other was dear to her because it was given her by her 'Nomie' in the innocent days before he was revealed to be Legolas, prince of Mirkwood. It was this pendant that she wore after the Fellowship departed for the South, and it is said that Arwen Undómiel clasped this necklace about her neck when she lay down upon Cerin Amroth to depart her life after the death of Aragorn.

But this day it was only a simple necklace, a bit of carved wood gilded with gold collected with glee by one small elfling who knew nothing of destiny but much of love. But perhaps, as Galadriel might have said, for Anomen, to know the one was to choose the other.


	2. Chapter 2: Nature's First Green Is Gold

**In this chapter there will be another scene that touches upon the relationship between Anomen and Glorfindel, but, again, that relationship is only one element of the story.**

**The line "Nature's first green is gold" comes from a poem by Robert Frost called "Nothing Gold Can Stay."**

**Thanks to the following reviewers: **_**Foxgurl0000, Elfinabottle, windwraith, CAH, Celebrian Tinuviel, Dragonsofliberty, JastaElf, Ne'ith5, vectis, Joee1, **_**and **_**RumorUnderOath**_**. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you.**

**Beta Reader: Since this story consists of two chapters only, I have not asked my beta reader to weigh in, as I do not like to burden her with anything beyond **_**Parallel Quest**_**, for which she has already reviewed thirty-seven chapters! If anyone sees a mistake, please alert me. **

When Legolas was an elfling living in Imladris, he discovered flakes of gold in a stream at the base of a mountain near Rivendell. A few weeks after the discovery, he led Elrond to the stream, and the two began to ascend the mountain in order to search for the vein of ore from which the flakes must have washed. Higher and higher they climbed as they followed the stream's winding course. As they ascended, they continued to find flecks of gold until at length, when they were almost at the very top of the mountain, they spied no further signs of the metal. It was then that they struck out from the waterway, searching in an ever widening circle until at last they came upon the vein, which had been exposed by a recent heavy rainfall. Anomen spotted it first. "There," he cried, pointing triumphantly. "Now we shall not be forced to rely upon Dwarves for our gold!" As he uttered the word "Dwarves," his lips curled a little, as if he had just tasted something nasty. Elrond looked at him gravely but said nothing. Instead, he turned and gazed back at the direction from whence they had come. Anomen followed his gaze and gasped. Beneath them lay the valley of the river Bruinen. Anomen had never seen the valley from such a height, and he thought it even more beautiful than the forest of Lothlórien. From the mountain, the land far below looked like a quilt made of patches of various shades of green. "How many greens are there in the world?" he blurted out. Elrond smiled. "An infinite number," he replied. "Each species of plant is a different shade of green, and the species may be combined in an endless number of ways so that each patch of earth may sport a different color. Then, too, the colors change according to the season. The greens of spring are different from the greens of summer."

"Yes," agreed Anomen. "Nature's first green is gold."

"True," said Elrond. "There is a touch of gold in the first foliage of spring. The leaves turn a deeper shade of green as spring turns to summer."

Just then a cloud passed overhead. Far below, the greens shifted as the cloud cast its shadow upon the ground.

"As the light changes, so do the colors," Anomen observed. "Yes," said Elrond, "and the wind, too, can change the appearance of color as the foliage sways so that the colors intermingle in new ways."

"So color is not fixed," marveled Anomen. "But, then," he said, unconsciously raising his eyebrows in the manner of Elrond, "how does one know the _true_ color of an object? Is the true color what one sees in the morn in springtime or at noontime in summer? But mayhap it is the color one perceives in late afternoon in autumn. Or perhaps the proper color is to be seen at dusk in winter?"

"Need the color be fixed, Anomen? Tell me: which is the proper Anomen? The one who is curious? Or is it the one who is mischievous? The serious elfling? Or the giddy one?"

Anomen laughed. "I am all of these," he giggled.

"Indeed, you are. I should be very sorry if you ceased to be any of these things."

"Even if I should cease to be mischievous?"

"Especially if you should cease to be mischievous," smiled Elrond. "You and your brothers 'keep me on my toes', as Men are wont to say."

Anomen had a sudden vision of Elrond walking about on tiptoes, and he giggled again. Then he eagerly returned to the subject of green.

"So it is not a problem that we cannot point to one shade of green and say, 'that is the proper green'?"

"No, it is not a problem at all. It is not necessary to settle upon one. Indeed, we should be glad that nature has been so generous. We will never have cause to tire of Middle-earth, for it is ever shifting in appearance."

Impetuously, Anomen flung out his arms. "I shall embrace all greens," he proclaimed. "Every shade, every tint, I shall welcome into my heart!"

"You are wise, Anomen. You shall cherish all the colors of green as you cherish all your fellows in Imladris, each different from the other, but each inestimable in his own way." "Yes!" Anomen agreed enthusiastically.

"No doubt," continued Elrond, "you will someday spend time among Men, and you will be delighted to encounter the same multiplicity among them as amongst Elves. I don't suppose you shall embrace them all—but, then, there are thistles amongst plants that you would not wish to clasp to your bosom."

In spite of his bad experiences with Dunlendings and Southrons, Anomen was still curious about Men in general. After all, Mithrandir had taken on the guise of a Man, and Anomen didn't think the wizard would have done so if Men were entirely lacking in redeeming features. He therefore nodded his head vigorously.

"There are also the Periannath," Elrond went on. "I have had few dealings with them, but Mithrandir speaks of them with approval. It is plain from the tales he tells that they are as various in personality and pursuits as any of the Elvish or Mannish races."

Anomen had heard many of Mithrandir's tales about 'Hobbits', and he had been badgering the wizard to allow him to accompany him on one his journeys to their lands in the west. Again he nodded vigorously.

Elrond looked approvingly upon the young Elf, and Anomen felt proud at having pleased the elf lord, but as Men say, "Pride goeth before a fall."

"Then there are the Naugrim," Elrond began to say.

"No!" Anomen burst out. "No! You are not going to tell me that I must go amongst those nasty, stumpy, hairy creatures."

Elrond paused and looked gravely at the young Elf, but Anomen stared back at him defiantly. 'He meant to lecture me all along', the elfling thought resentfully. 'He is every bit as preachy as Erestor—just more sneaky at how he goes about it!'

Elrond studied Anomen. Then he shrugged slightly and returned his gaze to the valley below. "Pity," he mused aloud, as if talking to himself, "that some folk never learn to appreciate the variety laid out before them—as if they were in a fruit garden and plucked only the pears, ignoring the plums and the apples and the peaches."

"I don't like peaches," Anomen declared stubbornly. "They grow mushy too quickly."

"It is equally bad if the fruit be not ripe," Elrond observed with equanimity. "In that one respect, it is not good to be green." His eyebrows raised, the elf lord gazed steadily at Anomen, who had the uneasy feeling that he had just been rebuked. He felt his ears grow warm, and he looked down at his feet. After a minute, he felt a hand upon his shoulder.

"Of course," Elrond said kindly, "green fruit can ripen."

Anomen looked up hopefully and saw that Elrond was smiling. Timidly, he smiled back and then he ventured to speak. "Shall we go back now and tell the folk of Imladris that gold is to be found in the vicinity of Imladris?"

"Do you think we should, Anomen?"

Anomen looked at him, puzzled.

"What would happen if we mined the mountain?" Elrond said mildly.

Anomen was perplexed at the question, for the answer seemed obvious. "Then we should have gold, Ada," he exclaimed.

"True, Anomen, but look about you. What do you see?"

Anomen gazed all about before turning his bewildered face back toward Elrond. "I see a mountain, Ada, and rocks, bushes, and flowers. Below I see the valley of the Bruinen."

"If we mined the mountain, what should we see?"

"We should see the same."

"Unchanged?"

"We should see a hole," the elfling resumed hesitantly, "because, well, a mine is a hole."

"Is that all we should see?"

"I suppose," Anomen said thoughtfully, "that we should see a path leading to the hole because there would be quite a lot of journeying to and fro between the mine and the valley. In fact, I suppose we should see a road and not merely a path. It would take wagons to convey the digging tools up the mountain and the gold down it, and for wagons one needs roads."

"That is true. So we should have a hole and a road. Would the changes stop there?"

Anomen considered. "In the Great Hall in Greenwood," he began and then stopped, alarmed. He had been carefully vague on the subject of where he had lived before Mithrandir had conveyed him to Imladris. Had he endangered his position in Rivendell? He stared anxiously at Elrond. The elf lord, however, acted as if Anomen had said nothing untoward. "So you have seen the inside of the Great Hall in Greenwood," he said unconcernedly. "It is a dolven hall, is it not?"

"Yes, Ada," Anomen continued, encouraged. "My tu—an Elf there once told me that the Hall could be compared to a mine because its ceilings were braced with beams."

"Ah," said Elrond. "Beams. And whence came these beams?"

"From the surrounding forest."

"Trees were cut, then."

"Yes," said Anomen somberly, thinking of the beautiful forest in the valley below. He gazed down to where the green colors continually shifted in the endless dance of wind and cloud. "Ada," he said suddenly, "folk would have to live here, wouldn't they? The mine would be near enough to the Hall to be valuable to us, but not so near that the miners could journey back and forth each day and still have time sufficient for their task."

"I believe you are right, Anomen."

"And that would mean," the elfling said sadly, "that more trees should be cut down, for shelters should have to be built."

"Yes, Anomen, and cook fires should have to be fed as well."

"More trees."

"Yes, more trees."

Anomen looked down at his feet. "Moss," he said suddenly.

"Moss?"

"Moss is very fragile. It wouldn't take much trampling before the moss is worn away."

"True. Mountain vegetation as a general rule is fragile."

Anomen was now very sorry that he had ever found the gold, for the exchange rate appeared to him much too dear. "Ada," he said, "once trees are cut and shelters built, it would be hard to hide this place. Other Southron spies are certain to follow in the wake of their fellows, and they will learn that gold may be mined from the mountain. Men will flock here."

"Yes," agreed Elrond, "and even if the Men are not thieves, they will still place a burden upon the valley. Traders must be lodged and fed."

"More trees?"

"More trees."

Anomen had been looking forward to the praise he should win when it became known that _he_ had found a great trove of treasure in the rough. Now he was too troubled to take delight in that prospect.

"Ada," he said gravely, "do we have great need of gold? We don't make tools out of gold, and our drinking vessels can be made out of other metals, or even wood or glass."

"Gold is pretty, Anomen."

"Other things are pretty as well, Ada. Trees are _very_ pretty."

Elrond waited patiently.

"Fruits grow upon trees," Anomen continued, "and trees provide shelter to many animals and birds. Ada," Anomen suddenly said in a rush, "if we mined the gold, I think we should lose more than we gained."

"If you believe so, then perhaps we should return to the Hall and say no more of this matter. The smith we shall swear to secrecy, and it will not occur to Arwen to wonder whence came the gold for her necklace. Then the only gold for which this valley shall be known is that which shines amidst its foliage in early spring. Is this what you wish?"

Anomen nodded solemnly.

Elrond laid a hand upon his shoulder. "You choose green over gold, my son, and thus prove that you are not so green after all," he smiled. Anomen now giggled at the pun. His mind once more at ease, the elfling contentedly returned to Rivendell at the side of his foster-father.

A fortnight later, Anomen prevailed upon Glorfindel to take Arwen and him up on his great horse to convey them to the mountain for a day of picnicking. The night before the excursion, Glorfindel pretended indignation as he sat in Elrond's study sipping a glass of Dorwinion wine.

"I, the balrog-slayer, am to spend the day as nursemaid to a couple of silly elflings," he complained.

"One of those silly elflings, may I remind you, has proven to be as discrete as any grown Elf."

"Elrond," protested Glorfindel, "even the finest archer may shoot astray upon occasion." For Glorfindel thought that the discreteness to which Elrond alluded was on account of the arrow that Anomen had found in the woods beyond the training field.

Elrond quirked an eyebrow. "Nay, Glorfindel, I speak not of the wayward arrow. Have you forgotten what I told you about the journey Anomen and I took to the mountain, how Anomen concluded that it would be best to say nothing about the gold to be found there?" Elrond had shared with Glorfindel what had happened that day.

"Oh," said Glorfindel, who suddenly looked shamefaced. "Glorfindel," said Elrond, smiling a little as the truth dawned on him, "why did you agree to take Anomen and Arwen to the mountain?"

"If you must know," blustered Glorfindel, "I thought it was the price of his discretion. He came to me and said he had a secret he wasn't to share, but he wanted to take Arwen to the mountain."

Elrond chuckled. "Ah, I see. You thought Anomen was implying that he would tell folks about the errant arrow if you didn't escort the two of them. I am sure, however, he merely meant that, although he could not tell Arwen about the gold, he at least wished to share with her the beauty of the place."

"Yes," agreed Glorfindel, "now I think on it, that must be what he intended. As a general rule, Anomen does not connive at that sort of thing—although he is uncommonly talented at telling no lies whilst failing to tell the truth!"

"Indeed!" said Elrond. "But that is a talent not to be discouraged. Witness how cleverly he managed the late encounter with our foes the Southrons."

Glorfindel nodded gravely. "Aye, he did well, that young one. I suppose on that account he has earned an excursion." The balrog-slayer arose. "But woe betide the lad if on the next day he does not acquit himself well upon the training field!"

With that gruff pronouncement, Glorfindel marched from the room, leaving behind an amused Elrond. The elf-lord had been the friend of the balrog-slayer for far too many centuries to be fooled by his brusque manner. Elrond knew that if he were forced to relinquish his role as Anomen's foster-father, Glorfindel would gladly take it upon himself to parent the elfling, for he loved the lad. On one occasion, Elrond had considered asking Glorfindel to formally stand as Anomen's godfather, but in the end he rejected the notion because he feared the ceremony might draw unwanted attention to the young Elf. But even without the title, Elrond knew that he could rely upon Glorfindel to safeguard Anomen's interests. Indeed, the next day, as they rode toward the mountain, it would have been easy to believe Glorfindel to be Anomen's named godfather, so gentle he was toward the youth. In fact, Glorfindel might have been mistaken for Anomen's parent by blood, so similar were they in appearance. Unlike the dark-haired and dark-eyed Elves of Imladris, Glorfindel and Anomen had in common golden hair and azure eyes.

Once they reached the top of the mountain, Glorfindel carefully looked about for any signs of foes. Finding none, he allowed himself to join Anomen and Arwen in their exploration of the mountaintop. Arwen was fascinated by the tiny but exquisite flowers, and Anomen and Glorfindel obligingly helped her search out the many varieties that were hidden in crevasses sheltered from the wind. They urged her not to pick them, however, for, as Elrond had already explained to Anomen, the mountaintop flora are very fragile. They also made a game of avoiding the moss. "Moss!" cried Arwen when she spied a patch. "Rock!" she exclaimed. She leaped from one rock to another to avoid the moss. "Moss _rock_ moss," she chanted as she hopped across the mountaintop. Laughing, Anomen hopped after her. Glorfindel followed at a more sedate pace, but when Anomen looked back at him, the balrog-slayer had an unmistakable grin upon his face.

After an afternoon spent romping atop the summit, the three sat down to the picnic supper that the Cook had put up for them. The old Elf had grumbled when Anomen asked him to prepare the repast, but when Glorfindel unbuckled their satchel, it proved to be filled with food enough for six Elves, let alone three. The Cook had also slipped in several delicacies. "Mmm," Glorfindel sighed appreciatively as he bit into a slab of fruit pie. "'S Good," mumbled Anomen around a mouthful of ginger cake.

The meal finished, Glorfindel, Anomen, and Arwen lay basking in the rays of the westering sun. "Soon we should set out for Rivendell," Glorfindel yawned after a time. He felt no true urgency to leave the mountain. It had been centuries since he remembered feeling so much at ease. Still, it would be safer if they were off the mountain by sundown. Reluctantly, he at last ushered his charges partway down the peak to where his steed browsed in an alpine meadow. Glorfindel lifted the elflings onto the stallion and led the horse down the mountain. As they reached its base, Arwen looked back and exclaimed. Glorfindel and Anomen twisted about to follow her gaze, and both gasped simultaneously. The sun was setting, and as it retreated into its night chamber, its lingering rays had brushed the mountaintop with gold. "Golden Mountain," Arwen cried delightedly. "That is the name of this place! Golden Mountain!" Glorfindel and Anomen exchanged a secretive smile. The mountain was indeed henceforth known as Dôl Malthen, Golden Mountain, but only they and Elrond knew that Arwen, in christening the peak, had settled upon a name far more fitting than she knew.

Anomen forever felt pleasure at the memory of that excursion, and it is not surprising that he found many excuses to return to the mountain, sometimes with Arwen or other folk, sometimes alone. But whether with others or by himself, he always contrived to be at the base of the mountain at sunset so that, gazing upward, he could watch as the summit was crowned with gold.

Even after Anomen had reassumed his identity as Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood, he continued to cherish his memories of visits to the peak. When he became friends with Gimli, it was therefore only natural that he would wish to introduce the Dwarf to a spot so well loved. Thus, late one winter a few years after the conclusion of the War of the Rings, Legolas went to Aragorn and begged leave to depart Ithilien so that he might journey with Gimli to Dôl Malthen. With Aragorn's blessing, the two set out. As was their custom, they journeyed together astride one horse. Gimli still had not mastered the art of horsemanship; nor would he likely ever do so, as he declared himself quite satisfied to rely upon Legolas when it came to matters equine.

"You are content to allow me to tend to whatever bits of ironmongery need fixing," the Dwarf pointed out to the Elf. "So I am content to allow you to tend to that overgrown creature you call a stallion. The smithy is my domain; the paddock is yours."

Laughingly, Legolas pointed out that Gimli had ventured into the equine domain in this at least: he had learned to shoe horses. Legolas preferred his horses unshod, but when he was forced to travel over rocky ground, he had to concede that it was best that his horses' hooves be protected. From Éomer's Men, Gimli had learned not only how to fashion horseshoes but also how to affix them to the horses' hooves. This knowledge had already proved useful on the journey, for Arod had thrown a shoe shortly after their departure from Ithilien.

As they rode, Legolas spoke eagerly of Dôl Malthen, of the beauty that was to be found both on the mountain and in the valley below. Gimli was skeptical.

"A mountain," he harrumphed. "And part of the Misty Mountains, that nasty chain of peaks we fetched up against whilst on the Quest. I haven't forgotten Cruel Caradhras, I hope you know!"

"Dôl Malthen is nothing like Caradhras," Legolas assured him. "It is true that it is snowcapped during the winter, but it is not one of the taller peaks that are icebound the year round. By the time we reach the mountain, late winter will have turned to spring, and you shall see such a sight! The early buds of spring will have begun to unfold, and you will say that the Valar have taken a rainbow within their hands and sprinkled its colors upon the earth. You shall see every shade, every tint. Not only purple but mauve and lilac and lavender and plum. Not only red but crimson and rose and burgundy and cherry. The blues shall be azures and indigos, and the greens will be emerald and jade. And gold, Gimli, gold! Nature's first green is gold!"

"Hmmph," muttered Gimli, who remained skeptical. He was well acquainted with Legolas's predilection for waxing eloquent. And he didn't see any sense in enthusing over golden leaves when, to his way of thinking, the only gold leaves that mattered were those that were beaten from ore.

After several days' journey, the two friends arrived at the base of the mountain. They camped there and the next day began the climb, leading Arod until they reached the alpine meadow where so many years before Glorfindel had left his stallion to graze whilst he accompanied Arwen and Legolas to the mountain's summit. As they climbed, Legolas excitedly pointed out the leaves newly unfurled and the buds newly opened. The newly-minted flowers glittered as the light of dawn struck the dew that beaded them, and Gimli could not deny but that the flowers were gemlike in their beauty. Having made that concession, Gimli allowed as how the tracery of stems and branches was not unlike the filigree that he so enjoyed crafting. "Oh, all right," he grumbled. "'Tis a pretty place."

"Pretty? Pretty! That word does not due this mountain justice."

"Well, what do you_want_ me to say?"

"At the very least say that this place is beautiful."

Gimli wrinkled his nose. "Beautiful," he grunted. It came out sounding rather like 'bew-ful', but Legolas was satisfied to have wrung that much out of the stubborn Nauga. The Elf laughed merrily. "For your astounding eloquence you have earned your morning meal. We shall soon come to a shelf where we will get the full effect of the morning sun. There we shall break fast."

As Legolas had promised, a brief climb led them to a spot where the steepness of the slope was broken by a level outcropping. The two slung off their packs, and Legolas withdrew the camp kettle from his. "Gimli," he said, handing it to his friend with one hand and pointing with the other, "you will find a stream past that boulder." Nodding, the Dwarf took the kettle and strolled toward the boulder. Once past it, he knelt beside the stream and began to fill the kettle. Suddenly, he dropped the vessel and let out a yell. Within seconds, Legolas was by his side, his knife drawn. "What is it, Gimli?" he said urgently.

In answer, Gimli held up his hand. Pinched between thumb and forefinger was a tiny flake that gleamed in the morning sun. Legolas's heart clenched. "Gold," gloated the Dwarf. "Gold! Why didn't you tell me there was gold on this mountain? I would have come much more willingly."

"I had forgotten," Legolas replied, and he spoke the truth. Over the centuries, he had repeatedly visited the place in part because it was beautiful and in part because of the pleasant memories associated with the mountain. He had ceased to recall the occasion that first led him to climb to the summit.

"Well, there's an Elf for you," laughed Gimli. "Carrying on and on about flowers and suchlike and o'erlooking the fact that there must be a vein of gold somewhere hereabouts. Happen you know where the vein is, or do I need to hunt it up myself?"

"I know where it is," Legolas answered sadly, "but let us finish breakfast first."

"Fair enough," Gimli said cheerfully. "The gold won't be blown off by a breeze, nor even a wind. Gold is heavy, gold is." He picked up the kettle and finished filling it. Whistling, he strode back toward the ledge. When he reached it, he sat cross-legged and began to sing a working song as Legolas prepared tea.

"We did dig dig dig dig dig dig / In our mine the whole day through," he sang. "To dig dig dig dig dig dig dig dig / Is what we like to do. / It ain't no trick to get rich quick / If you dig dig dig with a shovel or a pick / In a mine! In a mine/ In a mine! In a mine!"

"Execrable song," Legolas thought dejectedly. "Oh, why did I ever bring him to this place! Now it will be overrun by miners."

It is to Legolas's credit that he did not think, "It will be overrun by Dwarves," for he was past that way of thinking. Yet he was in no mood to congratulate himself on his fair-mindedness. Before him arose the same scene that Elrond long ago had prompted him to envision: trees cut down, earth rutted by wheels, vegetation trampled.

Breakfast finished, the two resumed their trek to the summit. Gimli insisted on following the stream, and every few yards he would let out an exclamation and drop to his knees to fish out a flake of gold. Yet even with these interruptions, it seemed to Legolas that they arrived all too soon at the vein that was the source of these gold flecks.

The rock face had been obscured by lichen and windblown dust over the centuries, but it did not take an enthusiastic Gimli long to clear away the detritus with a small axe pressed into service as a trowel. He was pleased by what he saw when he had uncovered the vein. "Look how thick that deposit is, lad," he enthused. "Oh, it's a rich vein, it is!"

Gimli had his back to Legolas as he spoke and could not see his expression. Eager to share his enthusiasm with his friend, the Dwarf spun about. As soon as he did, he caught sight of the Elf's face. "Why, what's the matter, lad. Don't you like gold?" the Dwarf asked anxiously. "Elrond has many a pretty gold bauble. Don't you take pleasure in the beauty of such objects?"

"Gold is pretty enough, Gimli," Legolas said, "and I like it well enough—but, but, well…."

Gimli waited patiently. "Nature's first green is gold!" Legolas suddenly burst out.

"You said that before," said Gimli, puzzled. "I don't understand why that thought should make you look so sad."

Legolas cast about to explain himself. "Gimli, Lothlórien is beautiful, is it not?"

"Aye, it is—particularly when compared with Fangorn and, begging your pardon, Mirkwood."

Legolas smiled a little. "Those places have their own virtues, but in the eyes of Men or Dwarves—even Hobbits—no doubt Lothlórien is the most beautiful of the three. It has many names. Some call it Lórinand, the Valley of Gold, and others Laurelindórinan, Valley of Singing Gold. In the Common Speech it is called the Golden Wood."

"I have heard of that latter name, lad—although I am sure there is no gold in that valley. Wrong sort of rocks thereabouts."

"No gold ore, true, but gold of another sort. It is named for the leaves of the mallorn, which grows nowhere else in Middle-earth. Although," Legolas added thoughtfully, "unless my eyes deceived me, Galadriel may have given Sam a seed of that tree."

At the mention of Galadriel, Gimli beamed. "Ah, Galadriel," he enthused. "Lady of Light. The Golden Wood is beautiful, but not as beautiful as the Lady who dwells therein. Nothing could be more beautiful than the golden hair upon her head!"

Gimli put his hand upon his chest. Underneath his tunic, Legolas knew, the Dwarf wore the locket wherein lay the three golden hairs that Galadriel had given Gimli when the Fellowship had left the sanctuary of Lothlórien in order to resume the Quest. Suddenly Legolas understood how to explain himself.

"Gimli, if you had to choose between your favorite axe and Galadriel's gift to you, which would you choose?"

Gimli gave Legolas an incredulous look. "Be you daft, Elf? Of course I should choose her gift."

"Your helm, Gimli. It is very ornate. Would you choose Galadriel's gift over your helm?"

"Without a moment's hesitation," Gimli said stoutly.

"What if you possessed only one strand of her hair? Would you value it enough to forfeit helm or axe?"

"Legolas, if only one iota remained of Galadriel's gift to me, I should forfeit both helm_and_ axe. I should choose that iota over any thing you might offer me."

"A gold nugget, Gimli? If I offered you a gold nugget?"

"Gold is valuable, lad, but not _that_ valuable. Indeed, there are many things that are as valuable—even more valuable—than gold. Do you remember those verses that described Aragorn back when he journeyed in the North as Strider?"

"You speak of the verses that Bilbo wrote? I remember them well, Gimli," Legolas replied. The Elf recited the first of the two verses: "All that is gold does not glitter/ Not all those who wander are lost; / The old that is strong does not wither/ Deep roots are not reached by the frost."

Gimli nodded. "Aye, that's the verse. Now, the gold that does not glitter was Strider, and any fool would know that the gold that was Strider was worth more than any gold ore."

"So Strider was worth his weight in gold," smiled Legolas.

"Nay! You were not listening carefully. Strider was worth _more_ than his weight in gold! Indeed, any Dwarf would have sense enough to know that even Smaug's horde would not have sufficed to outweigh the virtue of that one Man. I should think you Elves would be clever enough to understand _that_!"

Legolas took a deep breath. "Gimli, I do indeed understand what you say. You value gold, but you value other things more. The same can be said of Elves. There have been occasions when Elves had to choose between gold and some other good. I myself once made such a choice."

"Did you? I should like to hear that tale."

Legolas arose and went to stand at the edge of an outcrop. From there he could see the entire valley spread out beneath him, its colors shifting as the clouds passed overhead. "Long ago I found a beautiful place, Gimli. Not even Lothlórien was more beautiful. It was a mountain. The mountain itself was beautiful, its slopes adorned with lacy mosses and with flowers as tiny and colorful as gems. The valley below was equally beautiful, home to a forest of all manner of trees, each its own special shade of green. The mountain and the valley I visited many times, often with my kinfolk, so that it became very dear to me."

"Dearer than gold," murmured Gimli.

"Aye, dearer than gold. For there was gold in the mountain. One might find flecks of it in a stream whose waters would have been none the less sweet had it contained no trace of the precious ore. Yet I decided that the beauty of the place was more valuable than the gold hidden within its rocks."

Legolas fell silent. Gimli arose and went to stand by him. He gazed down at the valley. A Dwarf, he was not given to visions, but he had one now. Perhaps it was the virtue of Galadriel's gift that allowed him to see beyond the Now. Whatever the reason, as he looked into the valley, Gimli saw trees cut down, earth rutted by wheels, vegetation trampled. He glanced sideways at his friend. The Elf was imbued by the rays of the sun, and his golden hair glimmered.

Gimli had been clutching the flakes of gold. Now he raised his hand, palm upward, and carefully studied the flecks. "Do you know," he said after a bit, "now I look more carefully at these bits of metal, it seems to me that they are of very poor quality. Nay, worse that that—I do believe that they are naught but fool's gold. Paugh!"

With a sudden gesture, Gimli cast the flakes down into the valley, which was beginning to glow red as the sun westered. "Don't want to waste my time on such foolishness," he growled. "Well, lad," he continued briskly, "hadn't we better get off this mountain before the light fails altogether?"

For once, Legolas was speechless. His smile, however, was eloquent.

As they descended, Gimli made light talk until at last Legolas recovered his voice. "So, lad," boomed the Dwarf, "what does Dôl Malthen mean in the Common Speech?"

"It means Golden Mountain," Legolas replied. "But not," he added hastily, "for the reason you might think. You shall see when we reach the valley."

The two friends came off the mountain just as the sun was about to set. "Look back," Legolas instructed. Gimli obeyed and gasped as the last rays of the sun fell upon the summit. "'Tis indeed a Golden Mountain," Gimli murmured at last.

Later, after supper, Gimli began to sing another one of his execrable songs. "Make new friends but keep the old. / One is silver and the other gold," the Dwarf bellowed as he sat by the fire.

"Silence is golden," Legolas shouted over Gimli's song.

Gimli sang on. "A circle is round, it has no end. / That's how long I will be your friend!"

"It's still an execrable song," muttered Legolas, but he smiled as he pulled his blanket over his head to muffle the sound. "All that is gold does not glitter," he murmured as he slipped into a dream filled with light and color. "All that is gold does not glitter."


End file.
